


This

by Apostrophic



Category: The X-Files
Genre: A little joking around, Domestic Fluff, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s11e02 This, Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship/Love, Pillow Talk, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apostrophic/pseuds/Apostrophic
Summary: She wouldn’t know what to do without him keeping her on her toes.A little postscript for “This,” season 11. What happened after the episode. Towers of furniture because the world didn’t end.





	This

“Push,” Mulder said. 

Scully leaned with all of her weight into the chest of drawers that held most of his clothes and some of hers. It didn’t budge. Scully gasped and sank, tired, against the edge of the chest. “Push?” she said, reminding. 

Mid-push, Mulder’s phone had buzzed, and he had pulled it out of his pocket, tapping at the notification that flashed up on the screen. One of his apps he’d installed that alerted him to God-knows-what. No green fritzing screen, no disembodied Langly. And the chest of drawers hadn’t moved because it had been all of her weight and none of his applied to the effort. 

“‘Kay,” Mulder said, dropping the phone back in his pocket. He got low, braced himself. “Push.”

She pushed. He did too. “Push,” he said again, and Scully grunted with effort. The chest, stubborn, scraped forward an inch. 

Mulder said _Push_ a third time and they both groaned with the effort of heaving the massive piece another three feet, barricading it firmly against the bedroom door. 

“What does this,” he gasped, “remind you of?”

Scully, drawing in deep gulps of air, pushed herself up on her elbows, propped on the edge of the chest. She did not say the fleeting thought that had gone through her head: maybe it was not a bad thing Mulder had not been present at the birth of their child. 

“Um,” Scully said. 

“Yeah,” Mulder said. Panting out, “Towers of furniture.”

Oh. She had to search through her memory. Teamwork seminars? “I thought you were gonna say,” she said, “all those other times we had to barricade ourselves in a room. C’mere.”

Stiffly, she eased herself upright. Mulder creaked more than she did, making noise as he rubbed his back, more height to stretch up to and more bruises with which to contend. He let her lead him over into the light, lift his shirt away from his ribs. “Ouch,” Mulder said as she touched a dark purple contusion that was already swelling. 

“Jesus,” she said. 

He had taken a beating. She checked his back, found more bruises, but none that had broken the skin. The swelling was minimal, all things considered. He could take a deep breath without any sharp pain. No broken ribs. 

“Let’s get ice on that.”

“Nope,” Mulder said, pointing behind them. “I’m not moving that thing again.”

Right. She should have thought of ice before they blocked off the kitchen. She winced instead, Mulder’s turn to lift up her shirt, prod her ribs and her abdomen. She had taken much less of a beating. Just stiff and sore from the running and climbing. 

“We make quite a pair, huh?” 

“Kids these days,” Mulder said. “No respect for their elders.”

“Ha,” Scully said. One half of a smile. 

He was the one who pointed her in toward the shower. “Go on, you’ll feel better.”

“You first,” she said. 

Mulder started to protest.

“Come on,” she said. “You take five minutes, I take my time. You first.”

“Are we still talking about a shower? Or the other thing?” She took the towel off the rack and put it in his hands. “Because if it’s the other thing, I think it’s the other way around. Scully—”

He caught the door where she tried to close it. 

“Thanks,” he said, sincerely. 

She wouldn’t know what to do without him keeping her on her toes. 

“For what?”

“For today.” 

They were equal on that score, the way that she saw it. Equal at the very least. 

“You saved my bacon,” he said. 

“I like your bacon,” she said, and gave him the towel again, along with the look in her eyes as she pulled the door shut between them, but left it open a crack.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
He took ten minutes, not five. He stepped out of the shower and wiped the fog from the mirror and took stock, impressed, of the state of his abdomen. It was a modern art piece. Purples and yellows, swirled together with greens, blues and blacks. He found a t-shirt and plaid flannel sleep pants Scully left for him when she brushed her teeth. He dried off gingerly, winced himself into the clothes like he was an old man. 

She was asleep on the bed. 

Mulder paused in the doorway, the steam from the shower still warm on his back. She was dressed head to toe, curled up on her side, sound asleep where she’d laid down to await her turn for the shower. “Scully?”

Nothing. Nothing again when he eased down to sit on the edge of the bed. 

He took off her boots. Unzipped the short zipper, pulled them over her ankle. “Hmm?” Scully said. 

“S’okay,” he said, easing the SIG off her hip, unclipping the holster. He put it on the nightstand, drew her hand over so she felt it, within easy reach. Just in case. 

“Mulder,” she said, groggy, as he took off her jacket. “Stop undressing me. Without my permission.”

“We can revisit the roleplay thing instead. With the handcuffs,” he said, pulling them out of her pocket, laying them on the nightstand along with her SIG and her keys. 

She was still half asleep because, eyes closed, she grinned, nodding. 

“All right, tiger,” he said. “You want your side of the bed?”

She nodded again, moving over an inch, not making it off his pillow or his side of the bed. She’d smudge his pillowcase with mascara, leave long strands of red hair. 

Mulder sighed, not put out. 

He felt gratitude in his bones. Deep, bone-deep gratitude that they had survived the day. Like warmth, it spread through him, to the soft places where bones didn’t reach. 

She rolled over to meet him as he crawled onto the bed. It didn’t hurt too much when she curled on his chest. She pressed her warm body against where he ached. Her hair smelled like stale smoke and gunpowder. He combed his fingers through it. 

“What would you think about living forever?”

“Mm-hmm,” Scully said, automatically reaching up for a kiss, _goodnight, we’re safe here,_ before she fell back asleep. 

He considered the offer he’d been made in New York. He considered the downsides. No sun on your face. No wind in your hair. No stars in the sky.

He wasn’t sure he’d need that. Scully stirred, stretching out, wrapping her leg around his. He kissed her hair, pulled her tighter. 

This. He’d just need this. 


End file.
